


through the looking glass

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Child Abuse, Drowning, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene, Self-Harm, Sexual Identity, Shock, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going back to the very beginning of Aaron's story. Follows canon, only with the child abuse reveal in mind.<br/>Chapter 12: "another year older"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been re-watching old episodes and got struck by an urge to write some episode tags and missing scenes. It's very much a work in progress, but I hope you'll enjoy. Added some pictures too which is a first for me, but, well, I'm hoping it will help set the mood.
> 
> Feedback is very, very welcome :)

**nicked**

** **

****He spends the night at Johnny's place, curling up on a lumpy sofa and staring at the wall. He doesn't remember nodding off, doesn't even remember feeling sleepy, but suddenly he's woken by a trainer bouncing off his shoulder. It doesn't hurt or nothing, but it startles him. Sets his thoughts spinning again, making him lose track of where he's at, as his mate just laughs and laughs. It's a relief to lock the bathroom door. He takes his time in there, leaving the water running until he can think straight again. By then Johnny's sister has already been stood outside shrieking for a good ten minutes.

“Daft cow,” he mutters as he shoulders past her. She hisses back at him, her hair a wild mess and her nightie riding up so that he can see half her arse. Aaron tells her as much and then, well, Johnny kicks him out before he's even had a chance to have breakfast. Just as well really. There's no way Aaron would have been able to force anything past the thick lump in his throat. Still, it means that he'll have to patch things up at home. Either that or sleep in the streets.

Getting on his bike he peddles down the street, pushing hard and fast. Water sprays up against his legs as he goes through the puddles and, timing it just right, he even manages to splash some muppet in a suit. The man calls after him but doesn't give chase. Even so, Aaron takes the next curve a little too fast which leads to him noticing the car a little too late. He freezes, the bike coming to a halt as he stares straight at the driver's face – a young woman with wide eyes and parted lips – and there's just enough time for him to think: _hope it's fast_. Turns out that she's a better driver than he gives her credit for though because the tires screech and the car stops just inches away from him. The woman's blinking hard. Brushing hair out of her face. Her lips tremble as if she's about to cry.

Heart slamming against his ribs, Aaron sneers at her.

“Watch where you're going,” he shouts. Then he's off again, sweat stinging in his eyes. Going across town he keeps peddling hard. After a while, his legs begin to feel like overcooked noodles and his belly rumbles, reminding him that he's had nowt to eat since his tea yesterday. Still he keeps going. Things to do, he tells himself. Errands to run. People to meet.

“Oi,” someone shouts. A copper. Giving him grief for riding on the pavement instead of on the road. 

Aaron mouths back and, well, things get out of hand. Before he knows it, fingers close around his neck and he's being dragged towards the station. The pills – the ones he's running for the MacFarlanes – fall out of his pocket. The coppers crowd him then, their hands big and heavy, and it's stupid, all right, he knows that, but he still can't help but try and squirm away. There's something about being trapped between them -- about being made to feel small and helpless -- that messes with his head.

“Look,” the lady copper says. “You're in now and you're not getting away so _calm down_.”

As if it's that's easy.

xxx

They lock him in a room the size of a shoe box and ask him where he got the pills.

“Your boyfriend's handbag,” he replies, rocking his chair back and forth. He's not the type to land someone else in it, is he? And even if he were, well, he's not dumb enough to grass on the MacFarlanes. The lady copper, the one who claims to know his mum, shows up again. Tells him that dad won't come. That he's sick of dealing with him. Well, Aaron's sick of it too. So sick that he could scream himself hoarse, could bring down the walls around him with the force of it and then be happy to let the rubble bury them all.

“I'm gonna call Chas,” the copper says. “Wonder if you'll be as clever when she comes.”

“I wonder if she'll know who I am,” he counters.

xxx

Last time Aaron saw his mum, he'd been fourteen years old.

He'd told her the truth about her muppet of a boyfriend, about how Carl had been going on behind her back with some other slag. She'd cried then, big fat tears which ruined her make-up. The way he remembers it, he'd been happy to see her cry. Knowing that he had the power to make her hurt, well, it had been a thrill. And she must have known. Must have known just what a little shite he was because she'd turned to him and said-

Well, it doesn't matter what she'd said. The point is, Chas is his mum in name only. Not that she seems to remember that.

“What the hell happened to you?” she demands the moment she lays eyes on him, acting as if she has a right to ask. Putting on a show for the coppers maybe, though he figures she ought to be smart enough to know that they've seen it all already.

“What?” he says, drinking her up with his eyes. She hasn't changed a bit: short, slim and with her dark hair like a wild halo. He vaguely remembers that he used to think her pretty. “Today? This week? Or since you last bothered to see me?”

It shuts her up. Well, for a minute or so anyway.

xxx

It's evening before it's all sorted and they let him out of the station.

By then his stomach's tied itself in knots and he's no longer sure whether he's hungry or just queasy. The coppers might have let him off with just a caution but, well, it's not like they gave him the pills back. He needs to think – figure out what to say to the MacFarlanes, how to avoid getting his fingers broken or his head kicked in – but first, first he needs to eat. And that there, that's just about the only reason why he locks up his bike and gets into Chas' manky van when she offers to buy him a burger. A chew and screw, that's what Johnny calls it whenever he nips over to his old gran's place for tea. On the way out he'll even help himself to a few quids from her purse. No reason why Aaron can't do the same with Chas. It's not like he owes her _anything._

Only, well, Chas, the clever cow, grabs the takeaway bag before Aaron has a chance to and then she won't hand it over to him until he's back in the van with the seatbelt on. When he sneers at her she just smiles back, wide and bright. It turns into a frown quick enough though when she takes in just how badly his hands shake as he rips into the food.

“Those pigs didn't feed me, now did they?” he explains, speaking with his mouth full. Not that it's any of her business, not that she has any right to _care_ , but he doesn't want her to think that he's strung out on pills. With his luck, she'd just drag him back to the station and make him piss in a cup or something.

“So, how are things at home?” she asks after he's scarfed down everything but his milkshake.

“Don't know. Normal?” The lump's back in his throat. The burger lays heavy and solid in his belly. He feels _sick_. “Just drop it, all right?"

After that, well, things get out of hand. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor self-harm incident

**in a bad place**

The MacFarlanes find him just a few days later.

He's walking down the street, minding his own business while kicking empty cans, when a familiar blue car comes to a halt beside him. For a moment Aaron considers doing a runner but, well, it's not like he has anywhere to run to, is it? Besides, he's sick of feeling cold, sick of being hungry and, most of all, he's sick of sleeping behind dustbins like some mangy dog. So, instead of legging it, Aaron ducks his head and gets into the car.

“Good lad,” the driver says, offering a crooked grin.

xxx

They lock him up in a cupboard down in the cellar.

There are all sorts of things in there, boxes filled with trash and half-full bottles of cleaning solution. He starts rifling through one box, hoping to find something useful, but then snaps his hands right back as something soft and furry brushes against his fingers. It's not that he's scared of rats or nothing, but whatever it is, he can't even _see_ _it_. He sticks his hands under his armpits, digging his fingers into his ribs. It hurts, just enough to take his mind off things. It's a dead handy trick that.

Pacing back and forth gets boring fast. Not to mention that it makes him dizzy. Leaning against the rickety shelves for a moment, he tries to convince himself that with a roof over his head and a solid door between himself and the creeps, the cellar has to count as a trade-up from the streets. Only that gets harder to believe as the minutes pass and turn into hours. At one point he tries hammering on the door, shouting himself hoarse, asking to be taken to the loo. He's forced to give it up, though. Either there's no one on the other side of the door, or they just don't care if he pisses himself.

“Suit yourselves then,” he snarls, kicking at the wall. “I'll just piss on the floor, eh?”

But he doesn't. Can't bring himself to do it, not when he doesn't know for just how long they'll keep him locked up in there. So, instead, he pisses in some nasty old bucket and wipes his hands on his jacket. It all leaves him feeling exhausted and soon enough he finds himself on the floor, his knees pulled close to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around himself. Even knowing that it must make him look like a right mentalist, he allows himself to rock back and forth. Just for a bit.

xxx

In the darkness, it's hard to keep track of time.

Aaron finds himself dozing, or at least caught somewhere between awake and asleep. The line between reality and dream keeps blurring and it's not just once that he startles awake, pulse racing and skin clammy with sweat despite the chill. When they finally come for him, he's so sick of it all that he doesn't really care if they're just taking him outside to keep his blood off their walls. The dim light outside the cupboard hurts his eyes. He blinks and blinks as they drag him up the stairs, through the empty club and out in the street.

MacFarlane's waiting for him outside, along with some other bloke.

“You haven't told them nothing, sonny?” the stranger says.

He's rocking a mustache which looks like it belongs to the main star of some cheap porno. Aaron can't quite take his eyes off it. He can just imagine it all too well, the bloke grunting and sweating before spraying his nasty load all over some poor slapper. It's _disgusting_.

“What do you think I am?” he snaps back, more than half expecting a slap for being cheeky.

Instead, he just gets dragged into another car.


	3. Chapter 3

**the rescue**

“Here,” one of the guards grunts, lobbing a bag of cheese and onion crisps across the room. “Now stop your moaning, alright? Or the next thing you'll be getting is a smack in the face.”

Aaron fumbles the catch but he barely hears the jeering that follows. Instead, he just rips the bag open and stuffs his face. It's all gone in a minute, leaving him with nothing to do but to lick his fingers and watch the guards as they play yet another hand of cards. It's pretty much all their lot has been doing since they arrived here. That and drink cheap beer straight from the can. Still, better to sit here in a room with windows than stay locked up in that cellar. Now, these two muppets, they're just playing for pennies. A big pile's gathering up in front of the one with the messed-up nose, something which has the other one, an equally ugly bloke wearing a suit, scowling down at his cards.

“Need to piss,” Broken Nose finally says. “Don't cheat this time. And keep an eye on the brat! I don't like the look of him.”

With that said, he lumbers off, leaving Aaron alone with the other man. He's the smaller of the pair, which means that he's built like an ox with hands like shovels. Now, Aaron can throw a mean punch, he can, and he's been in more than his fair share of fights, but he's not dumb enough to fancy that he has any chance against these blokes.

“C'mon,” The Suit says, closing the distance between them before reaching down to wrap his meaty hand around Aaron's neck. He yanks him up and gives him a push, sending him tumbling to the floor. Aaron scrabbles to his feet, hoping to keep his distance, but the bloke's faster than he looks. Pulling Aaron back up on his feet, he then drags him along, his fingers digging bruises into Aaron's arm as they make their way through a long hallway.

Eventually, he gets pushed out on a balcony. It's dark outside, the way it never really gets in town, with the sky lit by faraway stars. Not that Aaron's in any mood to admire the scenery. He keeps a wary eye on The Suit for a second, then relaxes as the bloke just lights a fag. Aaron could do with one too but, well, he's still surprised that he managed to wheedle his way to some crisps. So, instead, he leans over the railing, feeling the chill through his thin jacket. Breathing in the fresh country air, he finally admits to himself that he's in well over his head. These blokes, they're not going to just let him go. Not after taking him here. Not after letting him see, and hear, so much of their operation.

It's hard not to be scared. It's not like the other day when that car came driving straight at him and he'd been, well, not relieved exactly, but close enough. It wouldn't have been too bad to go like that. He might even have died on impact. Just blinked out of existence. There one moment, gone the next. Aaron can imagine worse. Like these blokes, for example. He knows their kind. With scars spider-webbing over their knuckles and sadism bright in their eyes. They'll make it hurt and they'll make it last. He shivers, blaming the cold.

The trilling of a phone cuts through the silence. The Suit gives him a hard look, silently promising a world of pain if he acts up, then disappears back into the house. Maybe it's his missus calling. Or maybe he has a secret boyfriend. Although, with a face like that, it's probably just his mum checking up on him. Despite everything, Aaron smirks at the thought.

“Aaron!”

He blinks. Then blinks again as he sees _her_.

“Aaron!” she calls again, low but urgent. “C'mon!”

Time slows. He feels like he's moving in slow motion, hesitating for an eternity before finally swinging his legs over the railing. Everything goes still around him as he lets go. For a second he's free falling, his belly churning as it remembers just how much he hates heights. There's a thud as he hits the ground, his bones and teeth rattling. Lifting his head, he glances up at the balcony. Then he legs it.

He's always been a fast runner and he makes use of it now, arms swinging and his trainers slapping against the wet grass. Someone shouts behind him and, unable to help himself, he sneaks a quick peek over his shoulder. It's not The Suit but another bloke, just as big and just as ugly. And, at a guess, just as vicious. Aaron slides on the grass, arms waving in the air to compensate. If his heart could hammer any harder against his ribs, his chest would explode. Coming up to the wall, he stops. Stares up at the woman reaching her hand down to him. It's her. It's really her.

“C'mon,” his mum urges and then their fingers tangle together as she grabs his hand and, somehow so much stronger than she looks, pulls him across the wall. On the other side, half-familiar faces wait for them. Dingles, he thinks, feeling dazed as he's pushed towards the van. He's been rescued by what looks like half the Dingle clan.

“Go, go!” Chas orders. “C'mon, get in!”

They pile into the back, all treading on each other's feet and accidentally elbowing one another. The motor sputters and rumbles before coming to life. The van fills with laughing and cheering and then they're off. They're off and somewhere behind them, in the big house with the plush rugs, expensive leather sofas and Aaron's death sentence hanging unspoken in the air, Broken Nose might still be shaking the last drops of piss off his dick.

“We're all fine,” Marlon shouts down the phone.

Aaron bites his bottom lip. Tears his eyes away from his mum's bright smile and his relatives patting each other on the back to celebrate a job well done. Thinks of dad, having a beer in front of the telly, and Sandra, tucking Liv into bed. Thinks of his mates, Johnny and the rest, who probably haven't even noticed that he's been missing for days.

He doesn't know what to say.


	4. Chapter 4

**negotiations**

“Mission accomplished,” uncle Zac boasts.

The Dingle farm hasn't changed much at all, still cluttered and untidy with the air heavy with the stink of dogs and old beer. Sandra, Aaron reflects, would go spare if she had to spend more than five minutes in there. And dad, well, dad's made it clear enough just what he thinks of the Dingles. Liv on the other hand, well, she'd probably have the time of her life, messing about with the dogs and searching through all the trash for treasures.

Aaron's still taking it all in – and not just the house, but the rescue and everything else – when Lisa wraps her arms around him. She's soft and squishy, all boobs and belly, and it's strange but he can't remember the last time someone hugged him. Doesn't even quite remember what to do with his arms so he ends up just standing there, stiff and unyielding, until she lets go.

“You all right, love?” she asks, frowning as she runs her eyes over him. “They didn't hurt you, did they?”

At first, he doesn't even understand the question. Of course they'd hurt him. They'd meant to kill him, hadn't they? As she looks at him with her wet and worried eyes it hits him though that if he says yes, she might very well ask him to show her. Might even expect him to strip off his clothes, right there, in front of the lot of them. And what for? Just so that they can all stand around and gawk at the bruises? The very thought of it turns his stomach.

“Don't stress about it,” he mutters, hoping she'll let it go. And maybe she would have, but they'll never know because that's of course when Chas decides to stick her nose in.

“Well, they didn't, did they?”

There's steel in her voice. She doesn't sound anything like a mum should. Not all frustrated, like Sandra has been every time he's come home with bruises. Not all soft and caring, like Lisa had just now. No, Chas sounds dangerous. As if she's both willing and able to go right back out there and do something about it. But, no, he just can't let himself believe that. So instead Aaron shrugs, fingers tightening around the back of a chair as he tries to avoid meeting her eyes.

Then he flinches as she shrieks his name at him.

“Why would I tell you owt?” he demands, scowling right back at her.

“Because I'm your mum,” she hisses, and yeah, right. She narrows her eyes at him and he's taken back to his last visit. To their fight. The one where she'd made it clear that, even though he was her son, she didn't even _like_ him.

“I care about you, you ungrateful-”

And now, this, this is more like it. This is what he expects from her. From the lot of them. The familiarity of it comes as a relief. It's like the world's righting itself, going back to patterns which make sense.

“Go on,” he taunts her. “Tell us how you really feel, _Chas_.”

That's, of course, when uncle Zac steps in.

xxx

They're just so flipping loud, the Dingles, and the house's so small and so very stuffy. There's not enough air for the lot of them, there can't be, not with the way they're going on. When there's a knock on the door, Aaron jumps at the excuse to get away from the noise. He even plays with the idea of slipping outside. Get some fresh air and rest his head for a bit. Only when he opens the door, he doesn't push his way outside but rather lurches back into the room.

“Bingo,” MacFarlane says, his grin as wide as it's fake.

And Aaron should be scared, he knows he should, but instead he just feels resigned. Like he should have known, all along, that it wouldn't be this easy. You didn't just cross someone like MacFarlane and get away with it. Glancing over the man's shoulder, he half-expects The Suit or Broken Nose to be lurking in the shadows. Ready to drag him outside and, well, there's only one way that's gonna end, innit?

At the man's voice, there's a commotion. All of a sudden, Chas and Eli are right there, standing in front of him like human shields.

“Mind if I come in?” MacFarlane asks. He plays it up, all brogue and oily charm. Means to intimidate maybe, but to Aaron he just comes across sounding like an imported Hollywood villain. Chas can't be too impressed either because she growls at the man. Properly growls and everything, like a pit bull on a leash.

“You lay one finger on him,” she threatens as Eli holds her back and Lisa tries to smooth things over. Eyes locked on MacFarlane she bares her teeth and continues; “I'll kill him with my bare hands!”

It ought to sound ridiculous. An empty threat from a woman not even six feet tall. But instead Chas sounds, well, almost sincere. As if she won't just settle for standing there like a living barrier between Aaron and danger, but she'll actually fight for him too. The concept's so foreign to Aaron that he just can't wrap his head around it. He isn't even sure that he has it in him to try.

“All right, let's have it,” uncle Zac finally bellows. “State your terms!”

And he's just an old man with an unkempt beard and unwashed clothes, but there's still something about him which makes the entire room fall quiet and listen.

xxx

“You're not leaving here with the kid,” Chas spits out. She's ushered Aaron further into the room and she still hasn't left his side. Aaron doesn't know what to do with that but, for once in his life, he's decided to just stay quiet and follow someone else's lead.

“You don't need the lad,” uncle Zac adds, his voice soft and reasonable. And then they go back and forth, negotiating about Aaron's life as if he's a calf at a cattle sale. Aaron tries to pay attention, he really does, but he keeps losing track of the conversation. Instead of focusing, he finds himself thinking back to the darkness of that cellar. At worst, they'll put him back in there before they kill him. At best, they'll make it quick and just dig him a shallow hole in the forest tonight.

When it finally dawns on him that uncle Zac has managed another win, that no one will grab him by the neck and drag him away into the shadows, well, then he doesn't even know what to think. Just stands there with nothing but echoing emptiness filling his head.

“I wouldn't go getting too attached to the runt,” MacFarlane warns them just before he leaves. “If things change, I'll always know where to find him.”

And then he's gone. Just like that. Aaron stares at the closed door, vaguely wondering why he doesn't feel relieved. Why he doesn't feel anything but exhausted.

“Someone get me a drink, please,” Chas breathes, sinking down by the table as the fight leaves her body. She looks three times smaller than before and just about as knackered as Aaron feels. And, yeah, he thinks, all right, she's not gonna win any mother of the year awards anytime soon. But a drink?

Yeah, he can do that for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**the longest of evenings**

Later he sneaks outside for a smoke only to trip over Chas.

It's typical, innit? The past few years he's been lucky to get a card from her on his birthday and now, all of a sudden, he can't even enjoy a cigarette without her showing up to spoil the moment. And spoil it she does, going on and on about how he ought to be grateful. It does his head in, having to listen to her when all he came out for was a moment of peace and quiet.

“I can take care of myself,” he finally spits at her, hoping to shut her up. No such luck though.

“When did you get so hard?” she asks, her voice changing. Softening. As if she's pretending to be sad or something. As if she thinks he's dumb enough to fall for her act. His hands tremble with disgust he brings the cigarette to his lips. Not that the nicotine does much to relax him. It never does when he's like this, frustration and anger humming just under his skin. A few cans of beers might take the edge of it, but recently that's no guarantee either. Johnny's been telling him for months now that he ought to try something stronger. Something to make him feel a bit more mellow.

Chas keeps staring at him. Expecting an answer, he supposes.

“Some point in the last few years,” he suggests, waiting a beat before childishly adding; “When you were never around.”

“I thought you were better off with your dad,” she says, her voice raising as she marches up to him. She's still dead easy to rile up. It's just a pity that he's in no mood to enjoy his handiwork. “You always got on so well!”

_Us two against the world, son._

“That was before he got caught up with his new kid,” Aaron tells her, just to get her off his back. There's a pang of guilt at dragging poor Liv into it. She might be useless and all but she's never done him any harm.

“That's why you ended up hitting Sandra,” Chas breathes, sounding ever so pleased with herself. Maybe because, in her mind, she finally has it all figured. Or maybe because she's secretly chuffed that he battered Sandra. The way he remembers it, those two never got along. “You wanted to get his attention.”

At her words Aaron swallows down a mouthful of bile.

“No,” he protests, his voice weak. How could she believe that? How can she think that he'd ever want that? He struggles to find the words to explain: “She was just doing my head in. Having a go all the time.”

But Chas just continues, her voice soft and knowing.

“Sounds like you needed someone to take you in hand.”

He swallows again, the back of his throat burning. That's what dad had said, wasn't it? That he needed sorting. That he needed someone to make him get back in line. All of a sudden he wants, no, he _needs_ her gone. Stupid cow. She just doesn't know what she's going on about. Talking nonsense. As if she knows him. As if she knows the first thing about him. He lashes out at her, snarling words just to make her go away. It doesn't work, though.

“I'm just worried about you!” she protests.

“Well,” he chokes out, “I've managed on my own so far. Don't need you to save me now.”

Then he flees back inside.

xxx

All through the evening, he keeps expecting her to take him home.

And it's not that he's looking forward to it. He's not _that_ dumb. It goes without saying that there'll be hell to pay the moment he steps through the front door. Not just for getting nicked or hitting Sandra either, but for running away. Dad won't be happy about that. But that's why Aaron has to go back, innit? Because the longer he puts it off, the worse it'll get. Even a kid could figure that one out.

So he waits. Stays quiet and out of the way while trying to remember how to breathe. Tries to think of nothing, but keeps going back to what he'll say and how he'll act. It won't do to talk back. Won't do to try and play the big man. Not with dad.

Only Chas never ushers him into the van. Never offers to drive him back to the city. Instead she tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he's spending the night. Lisa even hands him a pile of clothes, worn with use and covered in dog hair. He wouldn't be caught dead in them and, despite Chas' eyes drilling holes in the back of his head, he can't find it within him to thank her for them. Then, before he knows it, he's dragged up the stairs and shown first the bathroom, then the bedroom. It's smaller than his room at home and it smells of damp and hair spray.

“You'll have to do make do with these sheets for tonight,” Chas says, too busy discretely kicking a black lace bra under the bed to notice how he dumps Lisa's second-hand clothes on the floor. “We'll change them tomorrow, alright?”

“What for?” he mutters, not really interested in her answer. “I'll be long gone by then.”

Chas just shrugs then wishes him a good night before closing the door behind her.

Aaron kicks off his shoes. Throws his jacket over a chair and lays down on the narrow bed. Stares up at the ceiling for a bit before dragging the duvet close to his face for a sniff. It doesn't smell of anything special. Maybe perfume or shampoo, but nothing that his mind actually connects to her. Laying down must remind his body of just how knackered it is though because suddenly he yawns, jaw cracking wide enough for his ears to pop.

Maybe he should try and get some kip. Just for a bit.

He closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the house as he works on getting his body to relax. The walls are thin enough and he can hear people talking downstairs. About him, probably, although he can't be arsed to get up and properly eavesdrop. In the other room, someone's already snoring. It amazes him, it does, that there are people like that. People who just fall asleep the moment their head hits their pillow. It's never been like that for him.

The floor creaks. There's someone outside his door. He sits up, staring at the door handle. It doesn't turn but even so he can't make himself lay back down again. And why should he anyway? It's ridiculous. He shouldn't be here. He needs to go home. It's all just going to get worse if he doesn't. He's known that all along but now, suddenly, it's all he can think about. His breath keeps catching in his throat and it's not long before he heaves himself to his feet, blindly grabbing his jacket and shoving his feet into his trainers. He hurries down the stairs, only to come across Chas. _Again._

He tells her that he's just down for some water. Figures that if he can just get past her, just get through the door, just get out of the house... then he'll feel better. He'll figure it out from there. Hitch a ride maybe. Or just get his hands on a phone. He could call dad. Apologize or something.

“I'm going home,” he tells her. Speaking slowly, as if maybe that'll make her understand.

“You can't,” she says. “Your dad, he's still mad with you for hitting Sandra.”

He tells her that he'll talk dad around. The lie comes easy enough.

“No,” Chas says, her voice almost gentle as she shakes her head, “no, I don't think you understand how upset he is. I'm not even sure he wants you back there anymore.”

“He still won't kick us out,” Aaron assures her.


	6. Chapter 6

**free falling**

** **

Only it turns out that he's dead wrong.

Dad meets them at the door, dressed for sleep and wrapped up in his ratty old dressing gown. When he speaks it's to Chas, not Aaron. He doesn't sound angry or nothing. In fact, it barely sounds as if he cares at all as he makes it clear that Aaron's not going to get past the front door. That, this time, he's not welcome back.

Aaron can't believe it. Dad can't abandon him. He just can't. Of all the things that Aaron has come to expect from the man, of all the things that he has learned to brace for and live through, this... this was never even a possibility. _Us two against the world, son,_ rings through his head. Only now dad's looking at him like he's already a stranger.

He remembers the plan – don't talk back, don't be the big man – and it's easy, easier than it has been in ages, to play the role of the repentant son. His voice shakes and all, even though he's never been that much of an actor. And he still expects dad to play along, he really does. Expects him to change his mind and send him upstairs. There'll be hell to pay, later when Sandra's gone to work and Liv's been dropped off at her nursery school, but Aaron can live with that. Aaron's survived that before.

But dad doesn't play along. Instead he just hands Aaron a bag, all packed and ready. As if sixteen years of life can somehow fit into one single lousy backpack. And then that's it. His life with dad, Sandra and Liv, it's over and done with, just like that. Aaron walks away from the house, mind reeling and the backpack hanging heavy over his shoulder. Keeps expecting dad, or even Sandra, to shout after him. To tell him that they've changed their minds. That he still has a home.

But they don't. And that silence, it feels like dropping off that balcony all over again.

xxx

Chas follows him. Because, yeah, _of course_ , she does.

They have a screaming match, right there on the street. He tells her that he's going to stay with a mate. He tells her that he'd rather end up on the streets than back with her. And Chas, she claims that she can see that he's hurting. Maybe she can also tell that he's lying. Maybe she can tell that he doesn't really have anywhere to go and that the thought of sleeping on the streets, where anyone could get at him, makes him feel sick inside.

“What I can give you,” she says, “is somewhere safe.”

So, yeah, in the end he gets back into her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of what we know about the abuse Aaron suffered through his eagerness to return home might seem strange. But, sadly, it's not that unusual for a child to want to return to an abusive parent. That said, I hope I managed to make it believable and true to his character. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self-harm, child abuse

**destruction**

** **

Later, he sneaks out and finds his way back into town.

For a while he stands outside dad's and Sandra's house. Liv's house. In a few hours they'll wake up. Dad will make himself a cup of tea before disappearing behind the morning paper. Sandra will bring her tea with her as she dashes about the house, spilling half of it in the stairs. Liv will be sat in front of the telly, still half-asleep as she lets her coco pops get too soggy and refuses to have her hair brushed. Just another morning at the Livesy's.

Aaron picks up a rock, weighing it in his hand. Considers all the things he could do with it. Something dark and horrible shifts inside of him. Like a monster stirring awake. But then he thinks of Liv and the rock, well, it clatters to the ground. Settling for the second best thing, he destroys dad's office.

Does it methodical and all, starting in one corner and working his way out. The computer screen cracks as it hits the floor. A framed family photo shatters as it smashes against the wall. Papers, ripped from the file cabinet, fly through the air like confetti. It takes him forever to realize that he's bleeding. That he's leaving smears of red all over the furniture. Leaving traces of himself, all over dad's white office walls.

It makes him think of soiled sheets, hidden away in the dustbin, and there's probably some kind of poetry in that. There's a lighter in his pocket and, for a few moments, he plays with the idea of arson. Of burning the whole damned building down around him.

But, no. He won't give dad the satisfaction. Won't make it that easy for him.

xxx

Afterward, he has nowhere else to go but back to Emmerdale.

Makes it all the way there, only to realize that he can't take the hubbub of the Dingle house. He breaks into the pavilion instead, pulling the hoodie over his head and his sleeves over stiff, red fingers. It feels like he hasn't been warm for weeks and he doesn't even mind all that much when uncle Zac eventually shows up to drag him to the van.

Back at the Dingle's place, Chas has another go at him. Only, apparently, this time, it's a free for all, because before he knows it Lisa and uncle Zac join in as well. Three against one hardly makes for a fair fight and Aaron, well, he's knackered. He does his best but there's not much fight left in him. He's used it all up, hasn't he? Bled it all out.

In the end, he retreats up the stairs. Locks himself into the bathroom to use up all the hot water. Then he finally takes the time to rifle through the backpack. There's nothing in it but clothes and some toiletries. As if he's a little kid, sent away on a sleep-over. Mind strangely blank, he goes through the motions. Changes into clean clothes and rubs the toothbrush over his teeth.

The door rattles as someone tries the door handle. Aaron stares at it. Wondering.

“Are you trying to drown yourself in there?” Chas demands. “Put something on so you're decent, then open this door. I haven't got all day.”

Aaron makes a face in the mirror. Stuffs everything back into the backpack. He even takes the time to draw a dick on the steamed up mirror, complete with balls and all, before stomping over to turn the lock. Chas enters the room like a whirlwind, barely glancing at the mirror before nudging him towards the toilet.

“You remember that I was in the army, right?” she says, sounding utterly unimpressed, before ordering him to sit. Aaron stays standing, keeping a wary eye on her as she kneels down to drag something out from underneath the bathroom sink. A first aid box, he realizes. The cut on his hand throbs, as if to suggest that having it tended to might not be the worst of ideas.

“Sit down,” Chas repeats. “C'mon, don't be an idiot. You can't very well wrap it yourself, can you?”

He stares down at his hand. Then over at the toilet. Chews his bottom lip for a moment before making up his mind. Glaring at her he stays standing but sticks out his hand, palm up. The cut's not too deep, but it's long with jagged edges. Chas makes an unhappy sound at the sight.

“This might hurt,” she warns. And it does, a little. But mostly he just hates being stuck in there with her, the space too small for the two of them and her touch too intimate. The moment she's done he pulls away, pressing against the bathroom wall as he eases past her. Then he lets himself into Chas' room and slams the door behind him. Just to let them all know to stay away.

He collapses on top of the unmade bed. Doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he's knackered.

xxx

Hours later, he wakes to the sound of dad's voice. It's muffled, drifting up the stairs and through a closed door, but the anger still comes through loud and clear. No more fake indifference. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Aaron decides to count that as a win. He crawls out of bed, dragging a thick hoodie over his head before stumbling towards the door.

“My computer's smashed up,” dad begins to list as Aaron makes his way down the stairs. “Printer. The works. There's stuff all over the place. It's a right mess down there.”

It's strange to see dad all worked up like that, yet knowing that there's nothing that he can do to Aaron. Dad must think it's strange too because they just stare at each other. The moment stretches, going on forever, yet no one else seems to notice.

“I'll have to call the police, you know,” dad finally says. “Insurance.”

“You got proof, have you?” Chas asks, arms crossed over her chest and her tone not that different from when she'd been confronting MacFarlane. Dad narrows her eyes at her then turns his attention back to Aaron. And Aaron can feel the weight of dad's stare. Squirms as the familiar eyes undress him. As they peel away his skin and dig deep underneath it.

“How did he get that then?” dad asks, jerking his head towards Aaron's hand. There's something in his eyes, something lurking behind his fake civility, that suggests that he wants to dig his thumb into Aaron's palm and press down hard. Aaron takes a half step backward and tucks his hands behind his back. Out of sight and out of reach.

He's so busy breathing that he almost misses how Chas lies to protect him. She's either a terrible liar or she just doesn't consider it worth the effort. Either way, dad's lips twist in disbelief. He laughs, the sound hard and angry.

“I reckon he'll love it here,” dad predicts. “Until he ends up in jail. And that might be sooner than he thinks. A spell in youth offenders might do him good though.”

Might sort him out. Might make him get back in line. Aaron swallows thickly.

But before dad can do anything else, before he can say anything else, uncle Zac steps in. He tells dad to get out. Even threatens to throw him out. He acts as if dad's nobody special. As if he's not, well, _dad_ but just some bloke that's getting on his nerves.

Aaron's uncomfortably hot under the thick hoodie, fat drops of sweat trickling down his spine, and the cut in his hand has begun to throb again. The past week or so has been one of the worst in his life. He's been nicked by coppers and kidnapped by gangsters. Been stuck in a cellar, waiting to get his head kicked in. Been rescued by his weirdo relatives and then kicked out of home by his dad.

Yet, somehow, he finds himself grinning. Grinning big and wide, with all his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: underage drinking

**making friends**

****

Everything changes. It turns into life before and after dad.

A long time ago, life had been split in before and after mum. Before and after Sandra. Before and after Liv. And now, well, now there's this. It seems to be the way of life. Things change. They get worse, or maybe a little better for a while before it all turns bad again. Still, at least he's not on the streets. He has a roof over his head and food in his belly. The Dingles mostly leave him alone. And yeah, school sucks but it's not like Aaron can remember a time when it hasn't. Chas, she gives him grief for skiving but when he goes, well, then the teachers give him grief instead. As for the other kids, they're all muppets.

 _Victoria Sugden's a cow,_ he writes one morning, pressing the tip of the pen deep into the fabric covering the bus seat. As he sits back to inspect his work he imagines her rat-like face, all scrunched up and unhappy when she spots it. Maybe she'll even cry. It would serve her right. True, he'd just met her the other day but it had been hate at first sight. Aaron has always excelled at that. After school that day, he spies on her for a bit, which is how he stumbles across a chance to nick a crate of wine from the local pub.

Hauling the stolen goods with him, Aaron breaks into the pavilion. It's not the first time that he's gotten himself drunk on wine. Johnny's mum always liked her plonk cheap and red and the two of them -- Aaron and Johnny, thick as thieves -- must have nicked dozens of bottles from her over the years. This wine, well, it might have a fancier label but it only tastes marginally better. Which is to say that it's sour enough to curl Aaron's tongue and yet somehow sweet enough to turn his stomach. But, hey, it's not like he can afford to be picky. A drink's a drink, innit?

By the time that Victoria comes barging in, he's even managed to work up the beginning of a buzz.

“Sorry,” he greets her, offering a sloppy grin. “Private party.”

“Right,” she snaps back. A few strands of stringy, dark hair have fallen into her face but she doesn't push them back, just keeps scowling as she continues: “I'm telling Diane. She's giving me hell because of you.”

Aaron takes another swig from the bottle, grimacing at the taste.

“Get over it,” he grandly advices.

“I will,” Victoria assures him, sounding smug as she whips out her phone. “When Diane sees proof.”

Aaron doesn't stop to think but just snatches the damned thing out of her hands before she can snap a photo. 

“Except,” he says, sneering at her, “she won't.”

She tries to threaten him with the police. As if the pigs would ever get involved just 'cause some wine went missing. Aaron scoffs at her. Next, she demands that he gives her phone back. And not just that, but she wants the bottles too. And, before Aaron can say or do nowt to put her in her place, she actually tries to take the bottle away from him. 

Once again, Aaron moves without thinking. It's always been like that. Someone gets too close, he lashes out at them. This time he doesn't push or hit though -- not like he had with Sandra, barely a month ago now -- but just grabs hold of Victoria. Even through the thick winter coat, her wrist feels frail. Aaron squeezes harder than he has to, expecting her to whimper. Expecting her to cry or beg or at least get it into her stupid head that she's messing with the wrong person.

Only she doesn’t. She doesn’t and Aaron, he slowly begins to realize that there’s something wrong with her. That something's not wired right inside her head. That, at some point, something happened to this scrawy, rat-faced girl to make her just as strange and ill-fitted to this place as Aaron himself. Even so, he pushes to his feet, hand still clasped around her wrist. He doesn’t ease up on his grip, but he doesn’t squeeze any harder either.

“You hit me yesterday,” he says, making sure to speak clearly. “I let you off. But if you touch me again, I'll deck you. Do you understand?”

Victoria keeps staring up at him, barely blinking to acknowledge his words. Aaron lets go of her arm all the same. For a moment she just stares at him, a puzzled frown on her face and not an ounce of fear in her eyes. Then though she storms off, the door slamming shut behind her. Aaron helps himself to the bottle. Doesn't wait for her to return, as much as he stays for lack of anywhere better to go. Feels a prick of satisfaction all the same when the door bangs open again.

“I just want my phone back,” she says, her voice whiney and not too different from Liv's after Aaron teased her for too long.

“If you say please,” he decides, the words barely slurring together at all.

“All right,” Victoria says, sighing. “I get the message. I won't hit you again.”

He nods. Finds that he believes her. Or, at least that he wants to believe her.

“I'm just saying,” he warns her all the same, “it'll be a fair right.”

It wouldn't though. Not in the slightest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor self-harm mention, dub-con scene (Chas/Carl)

**king scum**

** **

He gets into trouble at school.

Some snotty cow calls him all sorts in front of half his class-mates, acting like he's some sort of retard. Aaron writes her a note, shaping each letter with care. It's not the first time that he's made a teacher cry but Chas acts like it's a big deal. He half-expects her to slap him, but she doesn't. Might be better if she had, he reflects later as he's feeding the pigs. The stupid animals stare up at him, snarling and snorting, as he slips in pig shit and spills dank water all over himself. They keep staring at him, blinking with eyes that look almost human, as he finally manages to pour the slops into their trough.

“We'll see who's laughing come Christmas,” he spits at them, but they don't care.

Maybe Aaron should learn from them because he can't help but care. He cares about the stench of the house clinging to his clothes. Cares about the way the other kids whisper about him. About the way everyone stares at him. They think they know everything about him just because he lives with the Dingles, only they don't. If they did, they'd know how much he hates it. And not just the mess and the poverty but the sheer _business_ of the place.

Despite the cold weather, Aaron ends up spending most evenings outside in one of the old sheds. Mostly he just smokes but every now and then he manages to nick a few cans of beer. Not that he's an alky or nothing. But it helps a bit, doesn't it? Makes everything a little bit more manageable. The night before Christmas Eve, he's out there with his frozen fingers wrapped around a bottle of stolen cider when he hears a car pull up outside. The light from the headlamps light up the grounds, illuminating piles of scrap and rubbish. Inside the house, one of the dogs begins to bark. Hiding the still half-full bottle behind a crate, Aaron allows curiosity to steer him out into the cold.

Seconds later, he wishes that he hadn't as he finds Chas all wrapped up in Carl flipping King. That muppet has his hands all over Aaron's mum, mashing his nasty mouth against hers and pressing her close. Only just as Aaron thinks that he's about to gag, Chas pulls away.

“No,” he hears her say. “That was not meant to happen.”

She has her hands up, holding them as a shield between herself and Carl. As if she's getting ready to physically push him away from her. Aaron shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Glances behind him, back into the shed. Wants to leave but finds that his legs won't move.

“Yes, it was,” Carl insists, smarmy and persistent. Chas keeps shaking her head though.

“No,” she says again and Carl, well, he gives her some whiny excuse. Some stupid stuff about how she's the only thing that he cares about.

“No,” Chas repeats. “It's not what I want!”

The air's so cold that each word she says hangs in the air between them like wisps of white smoke. But Carl doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't seem to be listening at all. Instead of backing off, he just steps closer. Leans in, as if he's expecting another kiss. As if he can't see how Chas keeps backing away from him. How she's leaning back as if she just now realized that he's poison.

“No,” she says. There's anger in her voice now. Maybe fear too. “I want you to go.”

But he doesn't. And Aaron's heart, it's beating so fast that he might just throw up.

“You have three seconds,” Chas grits out. “Then I start screaming.”

Bile bubbles in the back of Aaron's throat.

“One.”

He stands frozen.

“Two.”

And then, finally, Carl turns around.

He walks back to the car, gets in and closes the door behind him. Chas goes back to the house. And Aaron, well, Aaron ducks back into the shed and vomits up the cider all over a pile of old wellies. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, then stomps outside, hands in his pockets and his fingernails digging wells into his palms. Peeking around the corner he finds his mother sat outside the house.

She looks like she's been crying.

xxx

It's easy to get his hand on the paint and it's easy to sneak out. Harder, perhaps, to get the letters just right. He takes his time though. No point, after all, going through all the trouble just for the message not to come across loud and clear. When he's finally done, Aaron steps back to admire his handiwork.

**KING SCUM**

Not bad, he decides.

xxx

The next day, Aaron peeks in through the window of the veterinary clinic.

It's not that he's worried about his mum or nothing. He doesn't owe her that. It's just that it makes sense. If something happens to her, well, that's him out on the streets again, innit? Anyway, it turns out to be a good thing that he does check up on her, because who does he find if not Carl King again. He's just sitting there on a chair, looking sorry for himself. Playing the guilt card maybe, or perhaps making up another sob story about how his life's not worth living without Chas in it. As for Aaron's mum, she keeps close to the wall, a scowl on her face and her arms crossed over her chest.

She doesn't look scared, Aaron finally decides. But she doesn't look happy either. And why should she be? That muppet obviously can't take a hint. Not even when it's two feet tall and spray painted all over his front door. Scowling, Aaron pushes the door open without knocking.

“Alright,” he says by way of greeting, keeping his eyes locked on his mum. Trying to read her face. “Me and Eli are going over to the pub now, if you're coming.”

If anything, Chas looks guilty. She stares down at her feet. The muppet, thankfully, stays quiet.

“What's going on?” Aaron prompts.

“Nothing,” Chas answers, only to then claim; “It's personal.”

Yeah, right. As if Aaron's going to buy that.


	10. Chapter 10

**christmas miracle**

For a while, the three of them follow the ambulance.

There are no sirens. Just the sound of the snow crunching under their feet and Scarlett's wet breathing. She's clinging to Jake's hand as if she's the one stuck in icy cold water and he’s her life-line. Jake doesn't act like he minds though. He pulls her close and says something, speaking so softly that Aaron can't quite catch the words. Scarlett nods, lifting her free hand to rub at her eyes. Ahead of them, the blue lights flash one last time before disappearing around a bend in the road.

“Will they be alright?” Aaron hears himself ask.

“S-sure,” Jake stutters, his head bobbing up and down as he speaks. They're all shivering, but he seems to be the worst off of them. Lost his coat out on the ice, hadn't he? Aaron fingers the sleeves of his own jacket. Thinks back to earlier that day, to how the two of them had been dicking around before Victoria and the others arrived. They had shared a few cans of beer. Even thrown a few snow balls. At one point, Jake had grabbed Aaron’s hands, leading them in a wild dance on the slippery ice. His hands had been bigger than Aaron's. Warmer too. It had been… nice.

Aaron shrugs off his jacket. Fumbles some with the zipper, his fingers too stiff to work properly. The wind's razor sharp and his trainers, they're soaked through with water from the lake.

“Here,” he says, voice gruff as he drapes his jacket over Jake's shoulders. Staring off into the distance he then ignores both the surprised _cheers, mate_ and the way that Jake smiles as Scarlett helps him zip up the borrowed coat. There's snow still falling from the dark sky. Big flakes, just slowly drifting down to cover the ground. They’ll have a white Christmas this year. Glancing over his shoulder, Aaron can still see the lake with its frozen surface. It looks black now. Forbidding.

“I want to go home,” Scarlett announces. Jake agrees and Aaron, well, Aaron just wants to get out of the cold. Wants to be somewhere warm and bright, with solid ground under his feet. Together, the three of them start the trek back to the village.

xxx

“We were at Home Farm,” Aaron explains later, stumbling over the words.

Chas has him bundled up in several blankets and Lisa's put the kettle on while the rest of the Dingles watch the show from the side-lines. Aaron can’t make himself stop shivering. It feels like he’ll never be warm again.

“We were just fooling around,” he continues, forcing the words past numb lips and chattering teeth. “It was just a bit of fun. But then the ice broke.”

“The ice?” Chas echoes, her voice sharp. Disbelieving. “You were on the lake?”

Uncle Zack shushes her. Pulls her aside, their voices rising and falling in the corner of the room. Aaron burrows down deeper under the blankets. Shivers and shivers until his body hurts from it. The sofa dips and he looks up again, but it’s not Chas. Just Lisa, holding a big cup of tea.

“Be careful, love,” she murmurs, keeping the mug steady as he reaches for it with shaky hands. He nods, too miserable to mind that he’s being treated like a child. The tea’s hot enough to burn but he doesn’t care about that either. Just gulps down a mouthful, desperate for something to thaw that terrible cold out of him.

“What happened when the ice broke?” Lisa asks, her voice soft.

And Aaron, he finds himself telling them. He tells them about how Victoria disappeared under the ice. About how they called for her and how Daz had jumped into the water. About waiting and waiting until, finally, Daz found her. About how they, together, pulled her out of the water and off the ice.

"Only... she wasn't breathing anymore.”

Lisa whispers a prayer and there’s muttering from the other side of the room.

“Daz got her breathing again," he adds. "They took her away in an ambulance for some check-ups, but she’s fine."

The words sound wrong to him. Impossible even. He'd been sure, he'd been _so sure_ that she'd died.

"She’s going to be fine," he repeats, louder this time. "She will."

There’s more to the story, of course, but he doesn’t know how to say the rest. Doesn’t know how to tell them that that Victoria had startled awake screaming. That she’d kept screaming and crying until the ambulance came and took her away. That Scarlett had cried too and that Aaron had done his best to comfort her even though he’s never been any good at it. That Jake had cried, silently and with his head turned away. Maybe Daz too, but it had been hard to tell with the lake-water dripping down his face.

Aaron's hands begin to shake even worse than before and he spills some of his tea on the blanket. Spills even more on his t-shirt. He expects someone to scold him, but no one so much as raises their voice at him. Chas just comes over, nudging Lisa out of the way as she plucks the cup out of Aaron’s hands. He hears them talking above his head but can't seem to make out the words. Everything’s muffled. Far away.

All of a sudden there’s a hand on his face. Acting on instinct, Aaron flinches away from it, nearly falling out of the sofa. Realizing that it’s just his mum he frowns up at her. As hard as he tries to, he can’t quite figure out what she wants. Why she’s touching him so carefully.

“Time for bed, love,” she says. For once, she sounds soft. Gentle. Nothing at all like herself.

Maybe that's why he lets her pull him to his feet. Why he lets her usher him up the stairs and into his borrowed bedroom. Why he lets her sit him down on the side of the bed and tug off his wet socks and sweat-stained t-shirt. She goes as far as to reach for the waistband of his trousers, but even with his head stuffed with cotton Aaron knows he can't allow that. He slaps her hand away, the sound loud in the small room.

“Aaron,” she scolds but he doesn't apologize. Doesn't say anything, not even as she presses her fingertips against his shoulder to make him lay down on the bed. As she pulls the duvet up over his shoulder. As she exhales shakily, warm air brushing against his ear.

“It could have been you,” she breathes. “It could have been you, love. I don't know what I'd have done then. If something happened to you.”

Aaron stares up at her, mute and exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the update for 15/10/2016 is not chapter 10 but chapter 8 ("making friends"). So, if you haven't read that chapter, I recommend you do. Sorry about the confusion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence

**new year, same story**

** **

He has nightmares for a while.

In the dreams, it’s not Victoria but Aaron that’s trapped in the lake. He beats his hands bloody against the ice, trying to get someone’s attention as water fills his mouth and lungs. Faces, blurred beyond recognition, stare down at him but no one dives into the water. No one runs for help. No one cares. Aaron sinks deeper and down there, at the bottom, hands reach out for him.

“You look tired, love,” Lisa says, handing him a plate of toast. It’s burnt and smeared with margarine but Aaron still folds it up and dunks it in his tea. Across the table Chas makes a face at him but she doesn’t say owt. She’s gone soft on him, she has, ever since the thing at the lake.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” Lisa continues, sitting down next to him. The chair creaks under her weight and Aaron stuffs the rest of the toast into his mouth to keep from laughing. And, maybe, also to keep from answering.

xxx

He runs into Victoria at the café on Main Street.

Considering everything, she looks alright. A little pale, maybe, with shadows under her eyes and her cheeks a bit hollow. Other than that though she doesn’t seem much different after her near death experience. She even has her rat-brown hair pulled back in that same old ponytail. Aaron has just scammed Bob, earning himself an extra sticky bun, so he figures that he can afford to treat her to something. They sit down together, knees almost touching under the small table. Victoria’s not wearing any make-up and her nails, they’re jagged. As if she’s been chewing on them.

Aaron asks her about New Year’s Eve and she tells him that she’d meant to go with Daz to some event. That he's turned her down but that she still has the tickets. Means to go alone, she says, her head held high and her eyes daring him to pity her. Instead, Aaron offers to go with her.

“I’ll get you drinks in from the bar,” he offers, hoping to sweeten the deal.

“I have a fake ID,” Victoria points out. It’s not quite a no, but Aaron’s not stupid. He sneers at her, staring down at the scratched table top as he regrets the offer.

“All right then,” she says. “As long as you pay for my cab fare as well.”

The surprise has Aaron reeling, his smile wide and unguarded.

xxx

“We’re not snogging,” Victoria tells him later.

She looks like a stranger, shiny hair curling around her ears and the red dress clinging to her body.

“Who says I want to snog you?” Aaron counters, even though he stuffed extra strong mints in his pocket before meeting her at the pub. He scowls at her, then turns his attention back to the crowd. Waits for the gut punch of disappointment but finds that he's mostly relieved. On the dance floor, Scarlett and Daz sway together. He watches them for a while, then shoulders through the crowd to pick up some drinks for himself and Victoria.

“Just the first round though,” he tells her. “The second one's on you.”

“Quite the catch you are, Aaron Livsey,” Victoria says, rolling her eyes at him.

But she still buys the second round.

xxx

They’re not far into the new year when Marlon comes to stay the Dingle’s, his face even longer than usual and his shoulders slumped. He has everyone swarming around him, offering him spiked tea and mumbled sympathy. Even the bloody dogs gather around him, whining and whimpering with their tails tucked between their legs. It’s pathetic, Aaron thinks as he takes it all at a distance. A grown man brought so low because of some woman.

“Sounds to me like she's the village bike,” he says, leaning close enough that he can smell the misery evaporating off Marlon’s skin. It’s a shitty thing to say and Aaron knows that. It’s mean and petty and, worst of all, it’s mostly undeserved. Marlon’s not a bad sort. Not really.

But even so, he says it. And maybe he does it because Marlon’s wallowing makes him think about dad, about the dark clouds in his eyes after mum left and the stench of alcohol on his breath in the evenings. But it’s equally true that Aaron’s always liked riling people up. Has always liked pushing people’s buttons just to see what they’ll do next. It’s a power trip, innit? Knowing that he can make someone lose control and reveal the monster beneath the mask.

As it turns out, Marlon’s faster than he looks. He grips Aaron by his coat, pushing him backward and toward the door. Aaron keeps the grin on his face even as he locks his hands over Marlon’s to keep the older man from shaking him too hard. He knows what it does to him to get jerked back and forth, the strain it puts on his neck and the way it always makes him feel like puking. He doesn’t count on Eli to come to his rescue. The man claws at Marlon’s hands, trying to pry Aaron loose. When that doesn’t work, he changes his tactics and begins pulling at Marlon’s shoulders instead.

“He’s just a kid,” Eli shouts and, well, that must matter to Marlon because to Aaron’s surprise the grip on his jacket loosens. The sudden slack has him stumbling backward, nearly landing on his arse. Still, he keeps his head high and his eyes locked on Marlon. Knows better than to relax. Knows better than to think that it’s over.

His heart races in his chest but, for once, he’s managed to keep his breathing calm. Under control.

“Get out,” uncle Zac orders, staring straight at Aaron.

No one speaks up. Not even Eli. It shouldn’t surprise him. Shouldn’t hurt him. Aaron doesn’t belong with the Dingles. Never has and never will. Even so, anger wells up inside of him. He turns, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

_Fuck them_.


	12. Chapter 12

**another year over**

After that, Aaron stays away from the house.

As soon as school’s out, he goes to the café. Uses his lunch money to buy sticky buns and tea, then spends the afternoon surfing the internet. Mostly he just follows random links but finding Johnny online he also does his best to get a conversation going. Turns out that Johnny’s been hanging with Eric and some of the other blokes from Aaron’s old school. They all went out for New Year’s Eve and Johnny hooked up with some slapper. 

_Me too_ , Aaron types. He makes up a story, mixing bits of truth – Victoria’s red dress and painted lips, the pounding music drowning out every attempt to make small talk and the dark corners near the bathrooms – with made-up filth. The lie makes him feel uneasy, like he’s letting Victoria down even though she’ll never even know. He scratches at the back of his neck, the corner of one nail sharp enough to break the skin. Johnny doesn’t reply and, after a while, the chat window grays out and a message lets Aaron know that he’s offline. 

It’s just about then that Daz and Scarlett show up. They greet him with a nod but don’t suggest that he joins them. They don’t bring up New Year’s Eve either, or the shared cab ride home. Not that they're obliged to or anything. One night out and a shared near-death experience doesn't make them all best mates. Aaron sinks lower in his chair. Stares blindly at the screen. Pretends that there’s still a chance that Johnny will come back online. 

Behind him, Daz and Scarlett laugh. They sound happy. And Aaron, Aaron feels a sharp pang of jealousy. And yeah, alright, so they're not best mates, but they're sorta mates, right? They'd had a good time the other night. Daz laughing at Aaron's dumb jokes and Scarlett asking him to watch her bag as she stumbled after Victoria to the ladies’ room. Clinging on to those memories, Aaron swings his chair around to face them. 

“You alright?” he asks, doing his best to sound all casual-like. 

Scarlett smiles back at him but doesn’t answer. Daz mutters that they’re good. They start talking about the dead guy. Carl’s brother. Well, Scarlett’s brother too, of course. Not that Aaron's petty enough to holds that against her. You didn’t get to pick your family. Aaron imagines that he knows that better than most. 

“Jimmy’s losing it,” Scarlett’s saying. “I’m really worried about him.” 

She sounds sad. The way she had on the ice, while they all sat around watching Daz breathe life back into Victoria’s still body. She’d cried then and Aaron had put a hand on her arm to comfort her. That had to mean something. 

“Is it this week?” he asks. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“He’ll be alright once it’s all out of the way,” Aaron tries to assure her. “I remember when my grand-dad died. I was dreading the church and all that, but in the end it weren’t that bad. Sometimes, you just… build it all up in your head.” 

Realizing how stupid he must sound, he stops. Bites his lip. 

“Anyway,” he adds. “If there’s anything I can do...” 

xxx 

It’s not long after that he gets kicked out of the café. Something about needing the space for paying customers. Outside, the sun’s begun to set. Most of the curtains have been drawn shut and a glance at his phone makes it clear that he won’t make it back to the Dingle’s in time for tea. Not that he’ll be missing out on all that much. Lisa’s probably just serving mutton again. Or, even worse, _rabbit_.

If he’d been home, Sandra would have… well, it doesn’t matter. 

Aaron shivers and sticks his hands deep into his pockets. Wonders if Chas will loan him a tenner for a pair of gloves. His fingers wrap around his lighter and his near-empty pack of cigarettes. He hauls one out, having to turn his back to the wind in order to light it. Walking aimlessly he suddenly finds himself standing in front of the pub. He decides to sit down for a while, thinking that if Eli swings by, well, then maybe the man can be guilt-tripped into buying Aaron some chips. 

He’s checking his phone for messages again – still nothing, not a single message, not from anyone – when he hears the ruckus behind him. It’s Carl and Daz, dragging an obviously drunk Jimmy between them. Scarlett trails behind them, her steps slow and her eyes unhappy. Aaron tries to catch her attention, but she just looks away. 

“Need a hand?” he offers, jumping to his feet. 

“No,” Daz answers without even turning his head, “we’re alright.” 

“You sure? He looks like he’s in a bad way.” 

“He’s fine,” Scarlett says, her voice curt. “We just need to get him home.” 

Aaron keeps looking after them. Realizes, slowly and with a flush of embarrassment, that they're actually no kind of mates. 

xxx 

That evening, he pulls the hoodie over his head and jumps the low stone wall surrounding the graveyard. The trees, some old and gnarly things, provide shelter from curious eyes as he pulls out the spray can. He shakes it once, twice, then kneels down in front of the gravestone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might have the dates wrong, but I'm pretty sure that, in canon, that was Aaron’s seventeenth birthday. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and sticking with the story!


End file.
